


Team Dinner

by Lynn_StarDragon



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: General Shenanigans, More of my OCs, Multi, Scout is a little shit, Slice of Life, The Mercs are all cultured killers, it's not just Spy who eats all fancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-26
Updated: 2014-08-26
Packaged: 2018-02-14 22:07:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2204811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lynn_StarDragon/pseuds/Lynn_StarDragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even the Mercs have to eat, and you can't make the same man do laundry every week. Unless it's Scout.</p><p>A look at how one BLU team deals with kitchen duties.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Team Dinner

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by Vihtalaini.

"I don't get it," Scout said from where he was up on tip-toes peering over and around the other man standing before the oven, "meat is meat."

"Meat is not _just_ meat," Sniper sniffed huffily. "Even Spy'll tell ya that. Different beasties need ta be cooked different ways."

"It's true," Pyro said from where he... she... they? they were sitting at the table of the team's private kitchen. Pyro was out of their asbestos suit and in dark blue sweatpants and a matching sweater both of which were loose enough to keep everything to the imagination. They also wore a simple cowl that covered all of their hair and the top half of their face as well as a pair of goggles to hide their eyes. "You've had Engie's ribs before. Even without all the sauce they're finger licking good. Not to mention Medic's _Sauerbraten_..."

"Oi," Sniper looked up from the cut of beef he was seasoning to glance over his shoulder, "Medic cooks? Fer tha team?"

"Before you joined," the androgynous fire crafter smiled. "Still happens on the rare occasion he has a will to."

"I'd pay money ta see that," the Australian survivalist said as he turned back to the task at hand.

"Well I ain't picky," Scout spoke up again. "BLU ain't no place fer sissies who only drink tea an' eat cake all day." He puffed out his chest and tried to stand taller. "A real man cooks his meat 'till it's dead and maybe uses salt."

"And makes shoe leather out of it," Pyro flippantly tossed back, "which is why the wife usually cooks."

"You burn cookies!" The urban youth cried out, sounding scandalized.

"On purpose," if the turn of their head was any indication the masked mercenary had just rolled their eyes. "Doesn't mean I don't know how to cook. Besides," they leveled their gaze at the young Brooklynite, "who makes your bacon crispy in the mornings?"

That cowed the city slicker quickly, much to the gunman's delight. "Thanks fer brekkie, by tha by."

Pyro only gave a little bow. "I do what I can."

Silence reigned for a few more moments as Sniper continued to prepare dinner and Scout took a seat at the table. It didn't look like he was going to be able to watch what the older man was doing to the slab of dead cow anyway.

"You know what I miss?" The gender neutral arsonist asked before they got up and sauntered towards the fridge. The hunter gave a non-verbal grunt of general inquiry. "Demo's lamb. Chops, rack of, whatever the cut, I just miss having his lamb."

"Amazed he don't soak it all in wine." Scout smirked.

"He's a functional drunk, an' only on tha clock at that." Sniper looked up even as he continued to massage the spice rub into the meat to sink between the fibers. "How d'ya know about cookin' wine anyways?"

The young athlete frowned at the implication. "Hey, just 'cause I look like I don't know things doesn't mean I don't know things. 'Sides, my Ma had to raise us all on her own and I'd kinda, ya know, watch what she was doing. Sometimes," he hastily added.

"How quaint," Pyro did a few mental calculations of what was in the fridge and started to go through the cupboards over the counter. "Did you learn any recipes from her?"

"Nah, not really," the young man gave a half shrug, "dat's more a chick thing."

Sniper gave a derisive snort of amusement. "You Yanks have tha oddest notions about wot's manly an' wot's womanly. So many basic, homey, things are all womanly but when ya turn it professional it's suddenly a man's business. Loike teachin'," the BLU sharpshooter clarified, "most of the schools want ladies teaching the little nippers fer their primary years, but when ya get to Uni suddenly all tha proffessers are blokes."

"Preaching to the choir," the resident firebug chimed back, "don't get me started on the art and literary worlds."

"Wait," Scout whipped around to face Pyro, "but earlier you said--"

"That the 'wife' does the cooking? Yeah," they smirked, "doesn't mean I agree with it, or that I think _all_ 'husbands' don't know how to cook. Society just expects the homemaker to cook and the other spouse to go out and make money. Really, you should ask Solly how _manly_ it is to know basic cooking."

"Any army will teach ya that," the Outback tracker agreed. "Need ta know it if ya go campin' or backpackin' through the wilds."

"So, really, masculinity and femininity are subjective, and not bound by physical or biological gender. Or actions and habits." Pyro glanced between a few likely side dishes they had on hand. "Sniper, what were you thinking to go with the beef?"

The former hit-man sucked in a breath between his teeth. "I'm debatin' if I want this ta be more of a brisket or a curry. If it's a curry I'd say rice or long noodles. As a brisket I'd think _Kasha Varnishkes_ would be better. I'd ask Heavy, though I guess from him it'd be _Varenyky_. Or just tha _Kasha_."

"Translation please?" Pyro asked while Scout just stared like Sniper had two heads.

"Oh, um," Sniper gave an awkward and sheepish smile, "between having bow-tie noodles covered in tasty stuff or dumplings filled with different tasty stuff."

The other cook in the room shook their head fondly at the slightly younger BLU. "Make it a brisket. I'd have to go to the main pantry for rice and I don't think there's going to be any noodles left in there, long or not."

"Sure it has nothin' ta do wit' wantin' ta put this over a fire pit?" The long ranged professional teased back.

Pyro just smirked, "Meh-beh," followed by a short cackle. "Easy excuse to ask Engie for help. Texas Barbecue and all that."

"Juss make sure he knows I already seasoned it." With that the hunter went about putting on the final touches before cleaning himself up.

"Won't matter how good it tastes if Heavy makes sucky dumplings ta go with it," Scout petulantly interjected. "What if he wants to put, like, goat meat in them?"

Sniper shook his head as he washed his hands. "Nah, Spy's more likely ta cook that. Russian cuisine involves more goat cheese than meat."

"Whoa, what?" The young city runner almost toppled out of his chair from disbelief, "Spy cooks? _Goat_?"

"I don't know," the sharpshooter was quick to amend. "Spy only cooks fer himself. Ya'd have ta give dearly fer him ta do otherwise. Wot I meant was Spy's a worldly bloke an' goat is more an Indian dish. So, maybe he'd know how ta cook it." The taller man shrugged, "They're more useful alive than dead in Russia, far as I could tell."

"Mmm, Goat _Vindaloo_ ," Pyro smiled at a private memory.

Scout just shook his head with a frustrated groan. "Yer all freakin' weird."

"Says tha boy who don't know how ta cook." Sniper quipped back.

"Hey!" The overgrown jock jumped up from the chair to defend his seemingly impugned honor. "I may not know fancy-pants girly shit, but I know how to cook!"

"Never. Again." Pyro intoned gravely.

"Wot, you didn't get sick," Sniper smirked at them.

"Engie did," was the sullen answer.

"Whatever," the Brookline born batter sulked, "cooking is girly anyway."

Both of the older BLUs just looked at him like he was three cards short of half a stack.

"Kid," Pyro started with an even tone, "who on this team strikes you as girly?" When Scout didn't reply they continued. "We all know how to cook. We have different strengths and specialties, but we all know how to cook and compliment each other."

"Do you a roight favor ta learn how." Sniper agreed. "Least tha basics ta help ya out."

"Can't I just stick with dish duty?" The athletic youth whined.

The masked fire starter considered the idea for a moment. "That might be safest. For now." They turned back to the marksman, "I'll agree that he should watch and learn."

"Too true." With a stretch the lanky Australian cracked his back and loosened his shoulders. Working hunched over the stove had done him no favors. "Bes' let Truckie know wot's wot. I'm sure he'll love ta spend tha next few hours yobbering on about the roight an' wrong ways ta cook dinner."

"Aw, see that Scout," Pyro clapped them on the shoulder, "your first real lesson!"

"Oh goodie," the city boy sulked as he was bodily steered out of the room.

Left alone Sniper went about cleaning up the kitchen and smiled amusedly to himself. Maybe there was hope for the kid yet, or Truckie could just beat some common sense into him. He actually wasn't sure which he was rooting for but as long as another meal wasn't ruined he found himself not too concerned about which method was used.

**Author's Note:**

> Really I don't have a =whole= BLU team in my head...
> 
> I just have friends with their own BLU OCs.
> 
> Reblog here on [tumblr.](http://journalforblu.tumblr.com/post/110538124137/team-dinner)


End file.
